I bought a new pair of shoes — that’s what this title says in the Yoruba language, written (I’m sorry to say) without the tonal markings. But I’m not sorry to say I bought the new shoes. They are called Crocs, which are a kind of rubbery plastic sandal with lots of holes in the top and sides that one could, I am told, wear near the beach or in the water with no damage to foot or shoe, but which one can also wear on dry land with great comfort.
I bought them to wear around the house, walking around on my carpets and rugs, as they had the promise of a springy sole and also of sure-footedness. They are shaped something like the clogs of the 60′s with a heelstrap, but all formed of this spongy rubbery plastic, and they come in various colors. I’ve got a light green pair for summer, and a pair of black ones to change off to and wear with winter colors. They do tend to make my feet look quite large — the green ones make me look as though I’m starting to turn into a frog from the feet up — but as my plan is to wear them around the house, and not outside, I don’t consider that a drawback.
Right now I’m wearing them with socks on, because I think my feet will have to get used to them, and without socks my feet will get sweaty, at least on the soles (the uppers have all these holes in for ventilation or water drainage). That, of course, makes them look even odder. If I don’t look down very often before I get used to them, they probably won’t bother me. And once I do get used to them — either shape them to my feet or shape my feet to them, or a bit of both — and they are comfortable, looks won’t matter.
Did you ever stop to think why many older people don’t seem to look, well, fashionable in their clothing and shoes? Sherlock Holmes used to warn people not to take the first or even the second Hansom cab that came along. I warn you not to take, necessarily, the first reason for something that may occur to you. Sometimes the first thought, like the first Hansom, may be correct, but then, it may not. You might first consider that older people can’t afford to dress otherwise than they do. While that may be the case, it may not be the reason. You might think that they have no innate sense of style, but then neither do at least as many younger people; consider that the second Hansom. To me, as I move on in years, a third reason occurs: I no longer care about what is fashionable. Being fashionable no longer has any edge or reward for me; I no longer have to appear in any kind of pseudo-uniform — at the office, or anywhere else — and it is no longer worth any investment whatever of time, expense, or comfort. Especially comfort. If I am to suit myself (and fashion is a way to suit the taste of others) then comfort is my number one consideration. And my number one consideration right now involves wearing green shoes that look like I’m turning into a frog, along with white knee socks.
Listen: when I put on my smoky-green knee-length shorts and my favorite t-shirt, the outfit is not just a statement but an absolute declaration of comfort and inner happiness. And at that point it neither feels nor looks odd, to me or to anyone else.
